May 2004 Archives

Today has been an adventure in breathing. As per usual, this cold has gone right to my chest. Combine that with the fact that my asthma has been wicked crazy since this winter, and getting sufficient oxygen has been a challenge. Thank god for the twin wonders of Tussin CF and albuterol. I would very gladly trade in my lungs for a new set with a better warranty.

One unique aspect of substitute teaching is that I get more on-the-job hugs than I ever have at any other job. (Of course, I also get called a bitch more than at any other job, but I'l chose to focus on the hugs, thanks.)

Sometimes those hugs show up elsewhere, too. Today I was on State Street, waiting to cross Gorham, and there was a family of three in front of me. I looked down to see the little girl looking up at me. It was one of the kids I had taught yesterday (and a few times before that...it's one of my regular schools). I greeted her and she threw her arms around my waist for a big huge. She introduced me to her parents, and I explained that I was a regular sub at her grade school. I got one more hug before the light changed. It was kind of nice.

I have run into students outside of school a couple of other times. Usually it has been nice, but never quite so enthusiastic.

(Although I did thank my lucky stars that I was dressed like a teacher person, and not looking slutty or something. Not that I do. Look slutty that is. Not usually. But you never know.)

Thursday I taught an elementary music class, and per the teachers instructions, this involved showing the "Nutcracker Suite" and "Sorcerer's Apprentice" sections of Fantasia at least ten times over the course of a day. While I didn't get sick of it, I did find myself getting picky about the animation:

*In the "Dance of the Mirltons" in Nutcracker, the mushrooms seem to change size in an odd way. Especially since at the beginning, there is one small, white-capped mushroom, two medium, orange-capped mushrooms, and four tall, red-capped mushrooms but soon the orange-caps have transformed into red-caps. Plus two of the red-caps at a time seem to grow into very tall, phallic objects, and then shrink back to original size. It's wierd, if you pay attention.

*In "The Sorcerer's Apprentice", Mickey walks towards a wall, away from a stationary light source. As he walks, his shadow on the wall grows larger, when it should be growing smaller. Not a big deal, really, but having to see it over and over made it really start to bug me. I kept thinking "Argh! That's not how shadows work!" Thank goodness I don't do caffiene.

Another observation: class after class of k/1 students got a major set of giggles over the nature fairies or sprites in the Nutcracker animation. "They're naked!" was the delightfully shocked exclamation.

I keep thinking about doing a bit of redesigning on this site, but then I look at my current design, and I realize that I still really like it a lot, and don't want to touch it just yet. I may, however, make a new Irving Place sign soon.

I've been on a reading binge lately. Funny, I've been mostly reading my backlog of New Yorkers over the winter, and I'm getting closer and closer to being caught up. However, instead of getting the rest of the way caught up, I've been getting distracted by pretty much everything I come across in the library. (Ok, everything in the Young Adult section, because that's where they keep the good stuff.) To top it off, I've been re-reading things I liked and haven't read in a bit.

You'd think I'd settle down and get to finishing the magazine stack, but no.

In addition, I picked up a bunch of books on typography, typefitting, and layout. (I finally understand what 10/12 means in the context of fonts, and what a Haberule is.)

Today, I was listening to a recording of Loreena McKennitt singing Alfred Noyes' "The Highwayman", and remembered the use of that poem as Anne Shirley's recitation piece in the Wonderworks' Anne of Green Gables. I suddenly realized that it was a major anachronism. The poem was first published in 1906, at which time Anne was already of mother of several children. (Her daughter, Rilla, the youngest of seven, was a teenager at the start of WWI in 1914.) Anne's trip to the hotel at White Sands would have happened when she was about 16. Even though they changed things around for the movie, it was still years before 1906. I'm just saying...

Today I decided to celebrate summer by biking down to the library. I finished checking out a little before closing, and then ran back in to check out one more item. After I left, I decided to walk next door to the discount bookstore, which was having an "every book for $4 or under" sale, and stocked up on design and typography books. I was in there about 15 minutes, and then went back to my bike. There I discovered, much to my chagrin, that my keys were not anywhere in my bag. I ran back to the bookstore, which was closing up, but my keys were not there.

I was and am 99% sure that I set them down on the library counter when I ran back for the second book. Unfortunately, the library had been closed for about 15 minutes when I made my discovers, and since it was Saturday, everyone had already cleared out right quick. It would not open again until noon on Monday.

I have two extra pair of car keys, and one extra bike lock key. I do not have a spare apartment key. Unfortunately, the extra bike lock key was inside my locked apartment, which was also a bit of a walk away. I had worn sneaker clogs with no socks, since I wasn't going to be doing much walking. Ha! Hello, blister city.

I trugged home in my ever more uncomfortable shoes, loaded down with books, a water bottle, and a bike helmet. When I finally arrived, I found that my landlord--the one person who would have a key to my place--was not home. I had no idea of when he might arrive. For all I knew, he'd left town for the weekend.

My front windows were open, but screened. After a bit of prying and peeling, I was able to pull the screen up and out without permanent damage, but I was also too short to reach the window. As a small bit of favor from the universe, my neighbors were home. They let me in, and I grabbed a small ladder from the basement. I wiggled my way in through the small opening, and promtly wacked my head on the hanging terra cotta planter just inside the window.

After getting the door open, I went back outside to repair the window. Of course, while I was in the midst of this opperation, who should drive up but my landlord. As another small favor from the universe, he did not freak out about the screen, and gave me a spare key for the weekend. Hurrah!

Now that I've gotten my bike back, too, and can soak my poor, blisted feet, I can see a lot more of the humor of the situation. Ha. Ha.

If anyone knows where I can get ahold of legal copies of Flash 5 and Freehand 9 for Mac, could you let me know? It seems to be a big pain in the ass to get ahold of older software once a newer version has been released, but those are the versions that I need. Thanks.

When did so many of them turn into passive little MoonPies? Is it that they are that afraid of rejection, or is it that they've got so many women throwing themselves at them that they don't feel the need to bother anymore?

Seriously. If you get all passively flirty with me, and then leave it at that, I *am* going to ignore you. I am *not* going to ask you out, hit on you, or even strike up a conversation.

Now, that's not an invitation to get skeezy and gross. "Hey, baby, nice tits," isn't going to get you very far either. But for god's sakes, guys, grow some balls and take the initiative. Pointless moony-eyes is so fifth grade. OK?